( An answer she has yet to find in any book, speech or poem. Rather in all forms, they seem all ever to be as in love with her husband as any being could be. )

( But he'd chide them both, for that. )

For now, she stays grounded, if only because one of them must attempt it. If only slightly. His skin does taste of salt, like a reminder of the long months of his parting from them. But as she walks those kisses up his chest, lighter and lighter, until she can lean forward over him: her only true objection to it, is that it is a reminder of how long they have been in absence of this wholeness. Where she leans forward, that taste of salt on her mouth to give not to James, but is a brush of a kiss that is timed to the swag of the carriage to Thomas' mouth ( like children stealing and sharing sweets, bracing with the strength of the hand upon her leg, the feel of fingers at her throat ), before she is summarily rocked backwards to her seat - she only has one response.

"Just so, we're to scrub these months off of him, the first chance we get."